


use the stars in the sky as our map

by picritic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Becoming Friends Again, Field work, Geology, Lack of Communication, M/M, Rated T for swearing, Trans Character, Trans Hanamaki Takahiro, alcohol mention, and maybe something more? we'll see, camping trip, geologist matsukawa, phd student matsukawa, rekindling a dying friendship, this is so self indulgent, unemployed hanamaki
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:34:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29913546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/picritic/pseuds/picritic
Summary: Matsukawa is an underfunded, overworked PhD student with three years under his belt and - so far - nothing to show for it. Desperate for help, he calls upon his last hope - Hanamaki Takehiro. The fact that they haven't spoken in two years...? Well, four days alone in the mountains will change anyone.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	use the stars in the sky as our map

**Author's Note:**

> title from 'as we ran' by the national parks

“I wish I had better news, but funding-wise, you really don’t have a choice.” 

The one plant in Hasegawa-san’s office is right in the center of the singular sunbeam poking its way through the drawn blinds, and Matsukawa is finding it difficult to look away from the motes of dust swirling around its leaves. He pulls distractedly at a loose thread on the knee of his jeans, feeling the rough weave of the denim scrape pleasantly along the edge of his fingernail. 

It is the only pleasant thing about this whole conversation. 

His advisor’s face is lined and weary and her right hand rubs her temple in slow circles. She peers at him over the edges of her glasses, dark eyes meeting dark eyes. There is sympathy there, yes, but also the eternal exasperation of a woman who has given everything she can give, only to be eternally asked for more. “It’s microprobe time or an undergrad,” she says, leaning on her elbow. Matsukawa’s eyes flick to her, taking in her expression, the way her lips purse as she looks at him. Next to her, the computer screen shows lines upon lines of data in a humming Excel spreadsheet. “I think we both know which you need more.”

Matsukawa’s fingers clench at the loose thread, tugging it insistently. He stares at the screen, eyes flicking down the rows, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth. Frustration builds within his chest. Despite nearly three years of constant work, none of his samples have given consistent data - at least, nothing consistent enough to submit as a dissertation. He _needs_ these samples, and the subsequent analysis time to process them. “Yeah,” he says finally, and the thread snaps. His fingernails curl into his palms, leaving a wisp of cotton to float to the tiled floor below. “Shit.”

Three years. Three years of sleepless nights, seven conferences, thousands of rows in dozens of Excel sheets, nearly a hundred and fifty pages in LaTeX, coffee, countless edits, ImageJ, 75 hours bent over a microscope, energy drinks, parafilm, fucking _ArcGIS_ … 

Three years, and unless he gets these samples – and said samples end up being actually _useful_ – he can kiss all that work goodbye. 

Hasegawa-san smiles ruefully at him, leaning back in her chair. One hand rests on the prominent swell of her belly. “Sorry, Matsukawa-kun,” she agrees, and while there’s a note of genuine apology there, she seems equally resigned. “There should be enough to get you a room at Emerald City for the last night, at least.” And then her smile softens, turns teasing. “As for the rest… I’m pretty sure we’ve patched the tent since last time.”

The reminder stings, and he grimaces. “Don’t jinx it,” he mutters, frowning at the computer screen again. There’s enough mess there; he doesn’t need to think about the possibility of a leaky tent on top of everything else. 

The rows of data swim in front of his eyes, taunting him, and he tries to push down the rising regret in his life choices. “How am I supposed to haul nearly a week’s worth of food, gear, sampling tools, and eventually some fifteen kilos of rock, with just one person?” he asks, glancing over at her pleadingly. “There’s really _nothing_?”

Hasegawa-san shakes her head, dark eyes pinning him. “Nope,” she replies curtly, sitting up again. She maneuvers the mouse, switching to a browser window with her email. It signals the imminent end of the conversation. “If you’re worried, bring a friend along, but we can’t pay them, and you’ll be sharing the room at the end.”

Shit.

“Fine,” Matsukawa says, slumping in his chair. The motes of dust swirl around the plant, dancing in the sunlight. For a moment, he envies them. “I’ll figure something out.”

~

It’s easier said than done.

He tries to find someone. He really does. He goes through every one of his cohort, ducking into offices when he knows they’ll be there for office hours or writing sessions or even, in one perpetually exhausted Amaya-san’s case, right before her afternoon nap. Every single person only looks at him sympathetically as soon as he mentions the dates and quickly demurs. 

Amaya-san is less polite about it. She clicks her tongue at him and lazily tosses a balled-up wad of paper towards where he sits at his neighboring desk. “That’s Golden Week, Matsukawa-san,” she says, sliding down in her chair until her shoulders are even with the armrests. “You couldn’t get me to go even if you did pay me.”

Matsukawa bites back a groan. Yeah, that’s what he thought. He drops his forehead onto the top of his closed laptop, feeling the cool metal leech warmth from his skin. “Shit,” he mutters. 

“I don’t know why you’re asking me anyways,” Amaya-san says, biting back a yawn. She inspects her fingernails. “I’m half your size, there is no way you are getting me to carry 100 kilos of _your_ samples down a mountain.”

“Amaya-san, last time we went drinking you literally picked me up and piggybacked me between izekayas.”

She waves a hand at that, rolling her eyes, but there’s a grin pulling at the corners of her lips. “Details,” she says, and rolls her chair closer to hit him gently on the shoulder. “Anyways, you know what you’re doing out there. It doesn’t really matter who you take with you. Make one of your siblings go, they’re old enough for it. Or grab an old school friend and make a week of it. Sell it as a camping trip with extra steps.”

He wrinkles his nose at the thought of either of his siblings joining him. Kameko would probably be fine, but knowing her schedule she’s probably doing some grand soccer tournament during that week, and Yuudai would… well, he’d be Yuudai, and Matsukawa has no interest in wrapping his mind around his little brother’s latest relationship drama while trapped in the mountains with him. He’d rather have Hasegawa-san and her expertise with him again, or one of the undergrads – hell, he’d take one of the Rocks For Jocks kids if he had to – but second choice would always be the annoying, exhausted, way-too-strong-and-intuitive-for-anyone-else’s-good Amaya-san. 

“I’d buy your drinks for the next six times we go drinking,” he offers, turning his head to look at her. His cheek squishes into the laptop. He can feel the edge of a sticker start to dig into his cheekbone, and vaguely registers it as the one representing the department. “Please, Amaya-san.” 

She shakes her head and pulls on the lever controlling the back of her chair. It immediately falls backwards and she follows it down, going nearly horizontal. “Nope,” she replies. “I’ve got plans, darlin’. Good luck, though.” She shoots finger guns at him, and then her eyes close, and Matsukawa knows that the conversation is over. Amaya-san’s afternoon naptimes are something you do not disturb and he’s already pushed his luck enough. 

He heaves a sigh and pushes himself to his feet, rubbing ruefully at he line he thinks the sticker has left indented in his cheek. Leaving his laptop and the pile of papers on his desk, he grabs his cell phone and exits the office. As he meanders down the hallway towards the main door, he scrolls through his contact list with his thumb, not really reading the names and yet hoping one jumps out at him. 

He’s just exiting the building when his thumb hovers over one name in particular. 

It stares back at him, taunting. 

Really, he has plenty of excuses for the artesian well of guilt that rises in his chest. The rigors of grad school made it too easy to fall out of contact with old friends. Some slipped away organically, opposing schedules making the requisite ‘keep in touch’ messages feel like useless rote after only a few weeks. Others fell by the wayside like the creeping of an unstable slope – inching downhill with every missed call or unreturned text, until a flurry of frustration sends the whole friendship tumbling into the void below. 

And others still are lingering, waiting in the wings, a friendship put on hold and fraying at the seams as their interactions become limited to occasional Instagram ‘likes’ on photos of café coffee and spring flowers and the rare selfie. 

Maybe, he thinks, feeling the sift of churning sands in his gut, this is the excuse he needs to reach out again. Maybe it’s time for a rekindling. Maybe – just _maybe_ – he can bring a needed light back into his life. All with the push of a button. 

He swallows his apprehension and taps ‘call’. The person on the other end answers after the fourth ring, sounding hesitant, and Matsukawa summons every ounce of bravado he can muster. 

“Hey, Hanamaki. Feel like going on an adventure?” 

~

It comes as a minor surprise when Hanamaki hears him out, but it’s an utter shock that Hanamaki says yes, his voice low and so familiar that Matsukawa aches. 

He leans against the cinderblock wall, feeling the rough texture biting through the thin fabric of his shirt, feeling relief wash over him like a gentle wave. It’s _strange_ , hearing Hanamaki’s voice after so long without it, and he finds himself babbling out details of the trip almost as though he’s trying to drown the other man out, unsure if he’s even capable of processing anything Hanamaki actually says in the meantime. He gives Hanamaki the details and promises to email him with a recommended packing list, then offers to drop off a few pieces of gear from the department – a 65 gallon backpack, a sleeping bag and liner, a sleeping pad – for easier packing. Hanamaki accepts quickly and quietly and the conversation ends with as little fanfare as it began. 

When Matsukawa manages, a few days later, to finally bring the bag and its contents to Hanamaki’s apartment (in an old building Matsukawa has passed a few times whenever he was on that side of the city, completely unaware his former best friend might have been only a few stairs away), Hanamaki’s sleepy-eyed, boxers-clad flatmate is the one to answer the door and accept on Hanamaki’s behalf. 

Other than a quick text that night confirming receipt of the bag, and another a few days later asking how they plan to get to the mountain (a cab from the nearest train station, to Matsukawa’s financial chagrin), Hanamaki and Matsukawa do not talk. 

They are not friends anymore, Matsukawa thinks, staring at Hanamaki’s name on his phone. Last text: yesterday, 12:47pm, nothing more than a simple ‘ok’. 

This could be a very bad idea.

**Author's Note:**

> Amaya-san is a judo champion and could crush a watermelon between her thighs. She thankfully only uses her powers for drunk escapades and intra-office shenanigans. This will be the last you see of her, but my little bisexual heart loves her so. 
> 
> ANYWAYS hello and welcome. This is my entirely self-indulgent Geologist!Matsukawa au. I have most of this written and am posting this chapter in an effort to kick myself in the butt to finish it. It'll probably be around 3 to 4 chapters, with chapter 1 likely being the shortest. If things go as planned, I hope to be posting chapters on Sunday evenings. 
> 
> I also would like to note in advance that NONE of the geology mentioned in this fic is actually present in Japan (literally none of it, Japan has like 1 site with any basalt and it is Not Anywhere Near Sendai/Miyagi), but as I have tragically been unable to explore Japan's geology in person and know that if I dive into the literature I will be stuck there forever.... my own experiences in other volcanic island nations will have to do. So if you're a fellow geologist reading this piece... hi and I'm so sorry. 
> 
> Kudos are appreciated; comments are adored beyond measure and will probably make me cry tears of joy.


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